Reflection of Age

A mystical pool of magic and time

Hides behind dreamy ferns

And the power that is so sublime

Is the pool, to be concerned. 

I walk over in red silk slippers

Gazing right at the rippling pool

Pebbles wide as dolphin flippers

Make memories of childhood and school.

I see princesses and ballerinas waltzing across

Halls and rose vine-entangled ballrooms

The sound of hymns in the way of the cross

A bored child snoring in a classroom.

And slowly do the slippers in the pool shrink

Into polished black leather shoes 

And I see a dress, my uniform, I think

Alabaster with stripes of mint hues.

Soda pops and I believe it to be

A dark green kindergarten graduation hat

Look more closely and I see

My fetish and obsession with cats.

Then my black school shoes grow

Into two fountain pens I love

I see my writing book black as a crow

And my muse, my inspiration: a dove.

Soon there’s a clouding of mist and toxic smoke alike

And my pens become a vine of thorny roses

My hands bleed and seep scarlet blood from the spikes

The vines are blocking my nose.

Soon the pens appear again entwined

In the intricate netting of floral work

I grab my pen in the pool and draw a sign

And it destroys the network.

My fountain pens have morphed into a pen and pad

And the roses have gone to rest

It’s telling me to start anew with no bad

And obviously make the best.

And at last I see myself slouching at night

On my marble floor slash workplace

A single tear drips in my sight

How I have misused my age.

And when I open my cedar shoe cabinet

And stare at the empty space

My red silk slippers are nowhere

So are my school shoes with socks and lace.